The Story of the Amulet, E. Nesbit [me reader .TXT] 📗

of all of them. They stopped the cab a few doors from home, and then the girls went in and engaged old Nurse’s attention by an account of the conjuring and a fervent entreaty for dripping-toast with their tea, leaving the front door open so that while Nurse was talking to them the boys could creep quietly in with Rekh-marā and smuggle him, unseen, up the stairs into their bedroom.

When the girls came up they found the Egyptian Priest sitting on the side of Cyril’s bed, his hands on his knees, looking like a statue of a king.

“Come on,” said Cyril impatiently. “He won’t begin till we’re all here. And shut the door, can’t you?”

When the door was shut the Egyptian said—

“My interests and yours are one.”

“Very interesting,” said Cyril, “and it’ll be a jolly sight more interesting if you keep following us about in a decent country with no more clothes on than that!”

“Peace,” said the Priest. “What is this country? and what is this time?”

“The country’s England,” said Anthea, “and the time’s about 6,000 years later than your time.”

“The Amulet, then,” said the Priest, deeply thoughtful, “gives the power to move to and fro in time as well as in space?”

“That’s about it,” said Cyril gruffly. “Look here, it’ll be tea-time directly. What are we to do with you?”

“You have one-half of the Amulet, I the other,” said Rekh-marā. “All that is now needed is the pin to join them.”

“Don’t you think it,” said Robert. “The half you’ve got is the same half as the one we’ve got.”

“But the same thing cannot be in the same place and the same time, and yet be not one, but twain,” said the Priest. “See, here is my half.” He laid it on the Marcella counterpane. “Where is yours?”

Jane watching the eyes of the others, unfastened the string of the Amulet and laid it on the bed, but too far off for the Priest to seize it, even if he had been so dishonourable. Cyril and Robert stood beside him, ready to spring on him if one of his hands had moved but ever so little towards the magic treasure that was theirs. But his hands did not move, only his eyes opened very wide, and so did everyone else’s for the Amulet the Priest had now quivered and shook; and then, as steel is drawn to the magnet, it was drawn across the white counterpane, nearer and nearer to the Amulet, warm from the neck of Jane. And then, as one drop of water mingles with another on a rain-wrinkled window-pane, as one bead of quick-silver is drawn into another bead, Rekh-marā’s Amulet slipped into the other one, and, behold! there was no more but the one Amulet!

“Black magic!” cried Rekh-marā, and sprang forward to snatch the Amulet that had swallowed his. But Anthea caught it up, and at the same moment the Priest was jerked back by a rope thrown over his head. It drew, tightened with the pull of his forward leap, and bound his elbows to his sides. Before he had time to use his strength to free himself, Robert had knotted the cord behind him and tied it to the bedpost. Then the four children, overcoming the priest’s wrigglings and kickings, tied his legs with more rope.

“I thought,” said Robert, breathing hard, and drawing the last knot tight, “he’d have a try for Ours, so I got the ropes out of the box-room, so as to be ready.”

The girls, with rather white faces, applauded his foresight.

“Loosen these bonds!” cried Rekh-marā in fury, “before I blast you with the seven secret curses of Amen-Rā!”

“We shouldn’t be likely to loose them after,” Robert retorted.

“Oh, don’t quarrel!” said Anthea desperately. “Look here, he has just as much right to the thing as we have. This,” she took up the Amulet that had swallowed the other one, “this has got his in it as well as being ours. Let’s go shares.”

“Let me go!” cried the Priest, writhing.

“Now, look here,” said Robert, “if you make a row we can just open that window and call the police—the guards, you know—and tell them you’ve been trying to rob us. Now will you shut up and listen to reason?”

“I suppose so,” said Rekh-marā sulkily.

But reason could not be spoken to him till a whispered counsel had been held in the far corner by the washhand-stand and the towel-horse, a counsel rather long and very earnest.

At last Anthea detached herself from the group, and went back to the Priest.

“Look here,” she said in her kind little voice, “we want to be friends. We want to help you. Let’s make a treaty. Let’s join together to get the Amulet—the whole one, I mean. And then it shall belong to you as much as to us, and we shall all get our hearts’ desire.”

“Fair words,” said the Priest, “grow no onions.”

“We say, ‘Butter no parsnips’,” Jane put in. “But don’t you see we want to be fair? Only we want to bind you in the chains of honour and upright dealing.”

“Will you deal fairly by us?” said Robert.

“I will,” said the Priest. “By the sacred, secret name that is written under the Altar of Amen-Rā, I will deal fairly by you. Will you, too, take the oath of honourable partnership?”

“No,” said Anthea, on the instant, and added rather rashly, “We don’t swear in England, except in police courts, where the guards are, you know, and you don’t want to go there. But when we say we’ll do a thing—it’s the same as an oath to us—we do it. You trust us, and we’ll trust you.” She began to unbind his legs, and the boys hastened to untie his arms.

When he was free he stood up, stretched his arms, and laughed.

“Now,” he said, “I am stronger than you and my oath is void. I have sworn by nothing, and my oath is nothing likewise. For there is no secret, sacred name under the altar of Amen-Rā.”

“Oh, yes there is!” said a voice from under the bed. Everyone started—Rekh-marā most of all.

Cyril stooped and pulled out the bath of sand where the Psammead slept.

“You don’t know everything, though you are a Divine Father of the Temple of Amen,” said the Psammead shaking itself till the sand fell tinkling on the bath edge. “There is a secret, sacred name beneath the altar of Amen-Rā. Shall I call on that name?”

“No, no!” cried the Priest in terror. “No,” said Jane, too. “Don’t let’s have any calling names.”

“Besides,” said Rekh-marā, who had turned very white indeed under his natural brownness, “I was only going to say that though there isn’t any name under—”

“There is,” said the Psammead threateningly.

“Well, even if there wasn’t, I will be bound by the wordless oath of your strangely upright land, and having said that I will be your friend—I will be it.”

“Then that’s all right,” said the Psammead; “and there’s the tea-bell. What are you going to do with your distinguished partner? He can’t go down to tea like that, you know.”

“You see we can’t do anything till the 3rd of December,” said Anthea, “that’s when we are to find the whole charm. What can we do with Rekh-marā till then?”

“Box-room,” said Cyril briefly, “and smuggle up his meals. It will be rather fun.”

“Like a fleeing Cavalier concealed from exasperated Roundheads,” said Robert. “Yes.”

So Rekh-marā was taken up to the box-room and made as comfortable as possible in a snug nook between an old nursery fender and the wreck of a big four-poster. They gave him a big rag-bag to sit on, and an old, moth-eaten fur coat off the nail on the door to keep him warm. And when they had had their own tea they took him some. He did not like the tea at all, but he liked the bread and butter, and cake that went with it. They took it in turns to sit with him during the evening, and left him fairly happy and quite settled for the night.

But when they went up in the morning with a kipper, a quarter of which each of them had gone without at breakfast, Rekh-marā was gone! There was the cosy corner with the rag-bag, and the moth-eaten fur coat—but the cosy corner was empty.

“Good riddance!” was naturally the first delightful thought in each mind. The second was less pleasing, because everyone at once remembered that since his Amulet had been swallowed up by theirs—which hung once more round the neck of Jane—he could have no possible means of returning to his Egyptian past. Therefore he must be still in England, and probably somewhere quite near them, plotting mischief.

The attic was searched, to prevent mistakes, but quite vainly.

“The best thing we can do,” said Cyril, “is to go through the half Amulet straight away, get the whole Amulet, and come back.”

“I don’t know,” Anthea hesitated. “Would that be quite fair? Perhaps he isn’t really a base deceiver. Perhaps something’s happened to him.”

“Happened?” said Cyril, “not it! Besides, what could happen?”

“I don’t know,” said Anthea. “Perhaps burglars came in the night, and accidentally killed him, and took away the—all that was mortal of him, you know—to avoid discovery.”

“Or perhaps,” said Cyril, “they hid the—all that was mortal, in one of those big trunks in the box-room. Shall we go back and look?” he added grimly.

“No, no!” Jane shuddered. “Let’s go and tell the Psammead and see what it says.”

“No,” said Anthea, “let’s ask the learned gentleman. If anything has happened to Rekh-marā a gentleman’s advice would be more useful than a Psammead’s. And the learned gentleman’ll only think it’s a dream, like he always does.”

They tapped at the door, and on the “Come in” entered. The learned gentleman was sitting in front of his untasted breakfast. Opposite him, in the easy chair, sat Rekh-marā!

“Hush!” said the learned gentleman very earnestly, “please, hush! or the dream will go. I am learning... Oh, what have I not learned in the last hour!”

“In the grey dawn,” said the Priest, “I left my hiding-place, and finding myself among these treasures from my own country, I remained. I feel more at home here somehow.”

“Of course I know it’s a dream,” said the learned gentleman feverishly, “but, oh, ye gods! what a dream! By Jove!...”

“Call not upon the gods,” said the Priest, “lest ye raise greater ones than ye can control. Already,” he explained to the children, “he and I are as brothers, and his welfare is dear to me as my own.”

“He has told me,” the learned gentleman began, but Robert interrupted. This was no moment for manners.

“Have you told him,” he asked the Priest, “all about the Amulet?”

“No,” said Rekh-marā.

“Then tell him now. He is very learned. Perhaps he can tell us what to do.”

Rekh-marā hesitated, then told—and, oddly enough, none of the children ever could remember afterwards what it was that he did tell. Perhaps he used some magic to prevent their remembering.

When he had done the learned gentleman was silent, leaning his elbow on the table and his head on his hand.

“Dear Jimmy,” said Anthea gently, “don’t worry about it. We are sure to find it today, somehow.”

“Yes,” said Rekh-marā, “and perhaps, with it, Death.”

“It’s to bring us our hearts’ desire,” said Robert.

“Who knows,” said the Priest, “what things undreamed-of and infinitely desirable lie beyond the dark gates?”

“Oh, don’t,” said Jane, almost whimpering.

The learned gentleman raised his head suddenly.

“Why not,” he suggested, “go back into the Past? At a moment when the Amulet is unwatched. Wish to be with it, and that it shall be under your hand.”

It was the simplest thing in the world! And yet none of them had ever thought of it.

“Come,” cried Rekh-marā, leaping up. “Come now!”

“May—may I come?” the learned gentleman timidly asked. “It’s only a dream, you know.”

“Come, and welcome, oh brother,” Rekh-marā was beginning, but Cyril and Robert with one voice cried, “No.”

“You weren’t with us in Atlantis,” Robert added, “or you’d know better than to let him come.”

“Dear Jimmy,” said Anthea, “please don’t ask to come. We’ll go and be back again before you have time to know that we’re gone.”

“And he, too?”

“We must keep together,” said Rekh-marā, “since there is but one perfect Amulet to which I and these children have equal claims.”

Jane held up the Amulet—Rekh-marā went first—and they all passed through the great arch into which the Amulet grew at the Name of Power.

The learned gentleman saw through the arch a darkness lighted by smoky gleams. He rubbed his eyes. And he only rubbed them for ten seconds.

The children and the Priest were in a small, dark chamber. A square doorway of massive stone let in gleams of shifting light, and the sound of many voices chanting a slow, strange hymn. They stood listening. Now and then the chant quickened